


Worship

by roselightsaber



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Body Worship, M/M, Married Banter, Misuse of the Force, NSFW, Or Great use of the Force, Prayer, Spiritual, so much married banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 21:32:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9626201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselightsaber/pseuds/roselightsaber
Summary: Chirrut is devout in following the Force and in his love for Baze. Why not combine the two?





	

Baze didn’t exactly take Chirrut at his word for literal word often. It wasn’t for a lack of trust; on the contrary, Chirrut said what he felt almost without fail. But he tended to speak in metaphor, flowery and poetic and _beautiful_ , and on two subjects in particular, he his words were even more ornate: love and faith. Baze supposed they were topics best discussed with Chirrut’s dreamy, aureate descriptions. He only wished he had more of a way with words himself, at least for the former. In any case, he was used to his partner tangling up his love for Baze and his love for the Force in any number of half-intelligible proclamations. Declaring his intention to _worship_ Baze, then, did not seem entirely outlandish.

It’s not until Chirrut is on his knees before him, eyes closed in prayer, that he fully realizes how literal his husband’s whispered fantasy had been. Baze is always happy to indulge Chirrut his desires, physical or emotional or spiritual. Mixing all three is a little more complex, but the notion of the other admiring, idolizing him is admittedly exciting. It’s also a little overwhelming, and confusing, and slightly embarrassing, at least at this stage. He bites his lower lip and watches Chirrut murmuring prayers at his feet.

“What should I do, love?” He asks, hoping his awkward laugh doesn’t ruin his husband’s immersion in his fantasy, or his prayer, or both. Maybe they’re the same thing.

He doesn’t answer right away, first finishing his prayers and pulling himself back to his feet. “Would you light some candles for us? Set the mood?”

“I’m not sure what mood you’re after, but I’ll light them anyway.” He doesn’t point out that Chirrut can’t see them either – if he’s asking, then there’s some good reason, surely. “What were you praying for?”

“Pleasure,” He says, as if it makes perfect sense. “For both of us.”

Baze blanches at the thought. “That’s a little blasphemous, don’t you think?”

Chirrut just shrugs. “The Force is present in all aspects of our lives. You are part of the Force, are you not?”

“All living things are–”

“And you are bound to me through the Force?”

“Of course.” He moves around the room lighting candles. Chirrut hadn’t acquired them specifically for this purpose, at least; both of them often used them for prayer or meditation or simply for a peaceful atmosphere. “I said it in my vows to you.”

Baze looks over, knowing this would pull the warmest wistful smile across Chirrut’s face, and he’s not disappointed. “Worshiping you is the same as connecting with the Force directly. It’s not so different than channeling through kyber. Today you’ll be my beautiful vessel instead of the crystals.”

Baze shivers in spite of his hesitance. Chirrut has a way of making anything sound righteous. “Still, praying for pleasure…”

“It seems like a perfectly good thing to pray for.” He approaches Baze as he finishes lighting the candles on their windowsill, arms curling around to hug him from behind. “It bonds us. Relaxes us. Connects us, body and soul.”

Baze leans back against him, considering this thoughtfully. “I never thought about sex as a spiritual pursuit,” He admits, looking over his shoulder at the other. “Not that it doesn’t often feel like it.”

“I blame myself for not sharing this philosophy sooner.” He rests his chin on Baze’s shoulder, his voice light and playful. “Then again you spent most of our more hormonal years all wrapped up in Jedi lore…” He clicks his tongue regretfully, nuzzling behind his ear. “Thinking attachments forbidden while you woke up next to me hard. Even if I couldn’t have sensed your longing, that would have been difficult to miss.”

“Don’t tease me,” He scolds, though there’s no malice whatsoever in the words. “We’ve made up for lost time since then.”

“Oh, we have, my love.” He catches Baze’s earlobe between his teeth and _pulls_ , not gently, laughing foolishly even before he makes his move. Baze snarls out a noise somewhere between annoyed and aroused, which seems to be exactly where Chirrut likes him.

“I know you can’t resist me, but try to refrain from taking a _literal_  bite out of me,” He complains, though Chirrut’s bubbly laughter is catching, and he’s smiling fondly at the other even as he wriggles out of his grasp. “Candles are lit. Philosophy lesson is given. Now what, my dear, pious monk?”

“Now…” He takes Baze’s hand and leads him back toward their bed, pressing a brief kiss to his lips before getting started on the fastenings on his shirt. Baze reaches up to help and receives a little swat on the hand for his effort. “Let me.” Chirrut’s stern tone is only tempered by a sheepish little smile. “…Please.”

“Be my guest,” He chuckles, dropping his hands to rest on Chirrut’s hips. “I might tease you,” Baze adds, rolling his palms, feeling for the angles of his hipbones. “But you know I’ll do whatever you want, so just tell me.”

Chirrut pauses midway through pushing Baze’s shirt off his shoulders and laughs. “Ah, so you’re completely on board with being worshiped.” He chuckles when Baze lets out exactly the annoyed huff he’d been expecting. “How noble of you to accept all my love and adoration.”

“You know what I mean, Chirrut.” Hands move from his partner’s hips so Chirrut can finish pulling his shirt off. “Do your prayers usually contain this much bullying?”

“Just the ones about you.” He moves to nip at Baze’s other ear but his husband is too quick, leaning out of the way. “What happened to letting me do what I want?” He slaps a hand none-too-gently against Baze’s side, a satisfying sound against his solid torso.

“What happened to revering me?” He shoots back, though they’re already both smiling again, and Baze doesn’t so much as feign resistance when Chirrut jerks him close again and kisses him roughly.

“I’m _getting_ to it.” No matter how they pick on each other in these moments, though, there’s no doubt in either of their minds how much love is behind the words, nor how easily reverence of the other comes to both of them, even if Chirrut is first to name it as such. He leans up for another brief kiss, even after all these years finding charm in their height difference, as his hands move to untie the waist of Baze’s soft linen pants. “The kyber never rushes me through my prayers, you know.”

“Your ring may be kyber but you’re still married to _me_.” The words rumble low in his chest, a sure sign of the effect Chirrut’s touch is having, and he strokes a rough palm over the other’s cheek.

Chirrut’s hands work quickly, slipping the fabric off his hips and letting it fall to the floor, undergarments following suit with haste. “I am married to you,” He purrs, pressing close, both hands sliding up Baze’s body to his chest, eyes falling shut when Baze embraces him almost on instinct alone. “We are one in the Force.”

Baze wonders briefly if Chirrut has abandoned his more involved plans for the evening, caught up in the feeling of being so close. But as Chirrut’s hand slowly opens and closes over his heart, he realizes his lover has already begun his worship. His breathing is slow and steady as if in meditation, eyes peacefully shut though it makes no difference to his vision, and when Baze listens closer, he hears him softly murmuring prayers against his skin. Baze tilts his head as Chirrut works his way up his neck with kisses and whispered words. He wishes he could hear him more clearly, and at the same time feels he shouldn’t listen to such private words even if they’re being breathed against his throat, the intimacy of it near overwhelming.

“Lie down.” Still so soft, the words come more clearly to Baze’s ears. “Our bed will be our altar tonight.”

Baze complies, eyeing the smile at his lover’s lips with curious amusement. He watches his partner as he reclines comfortably, Chirrut sinking to his knees between Baze’s legs. “Going to give me an offering?” He only teases because the reverence feels like too much otherwise, like Chirrut is trying to give him something of which he is desperately unworthy.

“I will,” He answers, more seriously than Baze would have liked, as he strokes his hands up Baze’s shins, coaxing him to bend his knees. “But I should appreciate the gifts you give me first.”

“Answers to your prayers?”

This finally wins him a smile, and the warm touch of Chirrut’s hands sliding up the back of his thighs. “Exactly.” Eyes shut again, he bows down, the gesture alone bringing a flush to Baze’s cheek even before he starts kissing a ticklish line along his inner thigh, lips moving in near-silent prayer between each touch. “Just relax, love,” He coos, nuzzling against the line where his thigh meets his groin. “I’m going to take my time, but I won’t leave you wanting.”

“I’m already wanting,” He grumbles, but his annoyance is, as usual, merely a put-on, and it gets him exactly the soft laugh from Chirrut he’s truly after as the other works his way up his other leg. He’s tracing his muscles where he can, Baze realizes, though he’s far softer than Chirrut and those lines aren’t so sharp and defined. He strokes his hair appreciatively. “Tell me what you’re thinking, my dedicated devotee.”

Chirrut grins up at him cheekily, pleased with Baze’s willingness to play along. “I’m thinking that I am thankful for your strength.” He sits back slightly, both hands on Baze’s abdomen, low enough to teasingly stroke his thumbs through coarse hair. “And that you share this beautiful body with me.” He leans to press a kiss under his navel, hands stroking up over soft flesh.

Perhaps there had been a time where he would have felt definition there, in a time where he rigorously trained in zama-shiwo alongside the other. These days he’s more apt to practice with a lightbow, and time and lack of training has left him with a softness of which he’s slightly self-conscious. Chirrut, on the other hand, appears nothing but appreciative. Baze remembers how worried the other had been for him in their younger days, when his tendency to asceticism left his frame slight and sharp, not so unlike how he’d looked when he’d arrived at the temple a starving and desperate child. Perhaps the memory drives his appreciation, Baze wonders, eyes closing to simply enjoy the attention for a moment. Or maybe the other man just has a type.

“You may not find much strength there, these days,” Baze jokingly warns.

“I find strength in every inch of you,” Chirrut purrs in response, determined, it would appear, not to let him deflect this adoration with humor. “There is such _life_  in you.” The words are reverent, quiet and spoken close to his skin between kisses – part of his prayers. “And your life is mine, and mine is yours. Every time I feel your skin, your pulse, your breath…” He makes his way up to Baze’s chest, knees at either side of his hips, head bowed so his forehead is over Baze’s heart. Complete supplication. “I am so thankful you are alive. That my other half exists in you is a _miracle_.”

“Chirrut…” A finger laid gently against Baze’s lips stops any further words though his heart surges, overflowing with warmth.

“Please, for tonight just…” His hands clutch at Baze’s chest, the line between pleasing him and admiring him completely dissolving into his tactile, sensory-rich praise. “Just accept my prayers for now.”

“I do, love.” Baze is surprised himself at how much he means it. “I hear you. I feel it.” He takes a deep breath and Chirrut shivers at feeling his chest rise beneath his hands. Baze can’t restrain a satisfied smirk at that – he’s well aware of Chirrut’s fondness for that part of his body, and that admiration has long since overridden any self-consciousness he might have felt. “Find something you like?” He teases gently, earning him another cheeky grin from his equally amused worshiper.

“I think you already know exactly what I like.”

“Show me then.” He pushes up to his elbows for a better view. “I could get used to this reverence.”

Chirrut moves to kiss him, long and slow and lingering, one hand at the back of his neck while the other traces down his sternum. “You couldn’t, even if I tried my best,” He murmurs, pulling away to nuzzle against his chest. “You’re too humble. Though that confidence…” He presses hot, open kisses across his chest between appreciative words. “You glow with that confidence.”

“Worthy of your praise?”

“More than worthy.” He whispers it like a promise, hands and lips seeking to fulfill it. His teeth graze over a nipple, pulling a sharp gasp from Baze, and the reaction seems only to spur Chirrut on that much more. One hand slips down to stroke Baze’s cock at last; he’s already hard and though he’s been soaking in all of Chirrut’s attention, relief floods him at finally being touched. “If I am thanking you for physical gifts, I certainly can’t neglect this.”

“You did pray for pleasure,” Baze reminds him, lying back again, reaching to touch Chirrut’s shoulders, cup his face in his hands, needing to reciprocate some of this adoring contact.

“Is this your response?” He grins up at him, kissing his way back down Baze’s torso, nuzzling into that patch of hair again as he gives him another slow stroke. “You’re already so hard for me.”

Baze’s laugh is breathless as he brings a hand to Chirrut’s cheek. “You told me to accept your praise, remember?”

Chirrut just hums wordlessly and sets to work mouthing at the base of his shaft, taking his time. No matter how many times he’s heard them tonight, Baze is still incredulous to hear whispered prayers interrupting touches of lips – even now, looking like the very picture of debauchery as he licks and strokes him, Chirrut is feeling for the bond of the Force between them. Baze would have to admit that it is there though, rippling off of Chirrut; his sense of the Force is never as clear as the other’s but Chirrut seems to both call the Force to him and to radiate it out of himself, and it takes little effort for Baze to feel the swirl of energy around him, even when he is being thoroughly distracted.

Another long lick and Chirrut is smiling slyly at him again. “You feel it too. Pray with me.”

Praying is hardly what he wants to be doing at the moment, but he closes his eyes and _feels_ , letting physical sensation mingle with the heated energy Chirrut stirs all around them as Chirrut takes him into his mouth. It’s more meditation than prayer, but Baze is stunned how easily the spiritual element of this act comes to him – his mind is clear, focused on the heat coiling low in his belly, moved only by the occasional soft sound from Chirrut. And _oh_ , Chirrut, gleaming like molten metal with the Force or with arousal or both, moans around him lewdly before pulling back to catch his breath, licks his lips as he faces Baze again.

“You are beautiful,” He murmurs, shifting to pull Baze up to a sitting position and kiss him hungrily. “My husband,” His words are mere breaths, his hands clutching, flushed from the top of his head down as far on his chest as Baze can see. “My heart and soul.”

“You’re all wound up,” Baze observes, pulling him close to kiss at his neck, tug at his clothes. Enough of being a passive object of adoration. “Take this off already, let me see how far that blush goes.”

Chirrut’s ethereal composure is gone, but none of his radiance, at least in Baze’s eyes, and between the two of them he’s stripped bare in record time. “How far?”

“To here.” Baze marks the edge of pink-flushed skin with a swipe of his finger halfway down Chirrut’s chest, with no shortage of amusement. “I still get you so hot and bothered?”

“ _Always_ ,” Chirrut growls, as if it’s a terribly annoying habit, and nips at Baze’s ear – that one that got away from him earlier. Baze lets him have it this time, though, exhaling in a noisy huff at the roughness though he’s much too busy running his hands over Chirrut’s body to object further.

“It’s only fair,” He half-groans as Chirrut grinds against him, taking the opportunity to return a little of that roughness to Chirrut’s neck and shoulders, kissing, biting, giving in to whatever strange blend of the carnal and spiritual Chirrut has provoked in the both of them. 

Chirrut’s voice is almost hushed despite his clearly growing impatience. “Leave marks,” He orders, still rutting against him.  A smile crosses Chirrut’s face that looks lascivious enough to Baze to have them both kicked out of the order, the temple, maybe Jedha altogether. It draws a disbelieving laugh from him, which Chirrut kisses away with stubborn, passionate reverence. Baze knows the look on his face well – beautifully reckless, the willingness to chase down whatever it is he wants. “Where it’ll be seen.”

“Listen to yourself,” Baze chuckles, but nips harshly at the juncture of Chirrut’s neck and shoulder. “What does a visible mark mean to you?”

“Not for me.” Chirrut tilts his head, exposing his neck to ask for more, and Baze briefly wonders if it’s possible to be brought to orgasm by only a particularly demanding tone of voice. “I want _you_ to see it. At morning prayer tomorrow, I want you to think of this. And see how you’ve  _blessed_ me.”

Baze just growls something incomprehensible and focuses his attention on that same soft spot, sucking a deep red mark there that will be plenty visible in the neckline of Chirrut’s robes. And he’s not finished yet; if Chirrut is going to give orders, he’ll try out a few of his own. “Still want to worship me?” He asks, giving Chirrut a little nudge back, as much to make sure he’s grounded and not overwhelmed as it is to shift him into a different position.

Chirrut nods, taking a deep breath. He knows Baze is trying to surreptitiously check up on him, too; he can get carried away and his husband’s thoughtfulness is every bit as much a part of his thankful reverence as is their physical bond. “Of course I do, love.”

Baze’s smile goes shy. He’s not as adept at asking for what he wants as Chirrut is, even when the other presents him with such a perfect set up to take the lead. “How about you bow down for me again?”

Chirrut’s eyebrows shoot up and he bites back a surprised laugh. Not that he doesn’t like it – quite the opposite – but he had not expected such direct words from the other. He scoots back a little, still on his knees, and leans over until his forehead touches the bed, arms out in front of him, fingers wriggling and reaching for Baze playfully. Baze moves away though, one hand trailing slowly down Chirrut’s back as he shifts behind him. “You look beautiful,” He whispers, though it hardly needs to be said when he’s touching him like something so delicate and precious.

Chirrut lifts his head, eyeing him curiously. “Should I pray like this?”

“If you want to…” Baze licks his lips and leans over him in a matching arch, pressing warm kisses across his shoulder blades. “Can I put marks here too?”

“Oh – _yes_ ,” He practically moans the word, and Baze is very, very certain that’s on purpose. Chirrut arches his back luxuriously, grinding back against Baze’s cock. “Please.”

Baze nuzzles at the nape of his neck, listening with rapt fascination to the soft, mewling sounds of pleasure it pulls from Chirrut. He doesn’t always bring him to this point – it’s too much for either of them for every time – but knowing he can completely take over Chirrut’s senses when he wants it is absolutely thrilling. Baze doesn’t have much of an impulse for dominance for its own sake, but getting Chirrut to this overheated, desperately needy state is worth it. “What do you feel?” He asks gruffly between kissing, biting across the back of his shoulders.

“You,” Chirrut murmurs, the weight and heat of Baze against his back seemingly all he can perceive. He rubs back against him again, blatantly _wanting_ , pushing up on his elbows for more leverage. “All of you.”

“Not the Force?” Baze is teasing, of course, as he presses warm, wet kisses down Chirrut’s spine, but he is slightly surprised at the answer. Not as surprised, though, as he is at his next words.

“You _are_ the Force.”

“If I am, then so are you.” He sucks a blooming red mark onto the divot on one side of Chirrut’s lower back. “This is what you wanted me to see, isn’t it?”

“We are connected, body and soul,” He sighs. “One with the Force, and one in the Force. And one with each other.”

Baze kisses over the thumbprint indentation on the other side of Chirrut’s spine, taking in his words, the heat from his skin, the image of him bowed over, all with equal reverence. If they are one, then they must truly be worshiping each other. “I want to take you like this,” Baze murmurs between notches of Chirrut’s spine – a confession that Chirrut is certainly already well-aware of.

“Please,” Chirrut says again, and it sends the same electric thrill through Baze as the first time. Practicality only briefly intervenes – Baze rises to find lube, Chirrut sits up and stretches. No words are exchanged, just faces caressed with knowing smiles, and a quick and breathless kiss as Baze returns. Chirrut bows back to elbows and knees, arching his back, elegant and vulgar all at once. They’re both well past impatience now; Baze is pleased to see that Chirrut’s propensity to flush that delicate pink extends to color the back of his neck, fanning out down across his shoulder blades. They’ve been playing a little more roughly than usual, biting and clutching so desperately at one another, and Baze sees no need to ease up now.

Pressing two slick fingers to his opening, he gives him a beat to prepare before pushing into him, biting his lower lip as Chirrut draws a sharp breath and wills himself to relax. Baze knows what he can take, though, and takes his time even if he’s not as gentle as he might typically be. Chirrut is not as delicate as he looks, not the fragile creature Baze as which often treats him. And now he’s groaning deeply, pushing back against Baze’s fingers, shamelessly craving the feeling of Baze working him open, filling him up. Baze knows every inch of him and this is no exception, angling, curling his fingers just the right way to pull wanton moans from his throat, the kind that come out in half-gasped surprise, no time to stifle them or hold back.

“Baze, please,” Chirrut mutters, breathing heavily. No poetry this time, no soul-searching spirituality, lost for a moment in the face of more visceral needs. “Get on with it.”

“As you wish, my devotee.” This does manage to make him laugh again, to Baze’s delight, even if it’s quick and breathless and cut short by Baze thrusting into him _all at once_ , sending Chirrut’s hands scrabbling for purchase on their sheets. His expression wavers between bliss and shock, and Baze does his best to lean for a better look without jostling him around further while he adjusts. “Tell me how you feel, love.”

“Good,” He breathes first, all in a rush, worried Baze might misread his overcome expression as discomfort. There is some of that, but it hardly registers compared to the _heat_ of him, the feeling of being pushed to the limit by the other man, and not only physically. When he can focus on anything besides Baze impossibly deep inside him, he reaches back to the hand at his hip and gives Baze a tug forward until he’s propped with his hands next to Chirrut’s elbows, pressed flush against his back. “You’re so _big_ ,” He murmurs as if he’s actually slightly embarrassed, for the first time in his life, at the words falling from his lips.

“All of me?” Baze replies, far too cheeky for the position they’re in.

Chirrut groans, part pleasure and part annoyance. “You know exactly what I mean, Baze Malbus.”

He pulls out slowly, the dragging heat enough to leave him murmuring barely above a whisper against Chirrut’s shoulder before slamming roughly back into him. “Do I?”

Chirrut lets out a choked sound and his head droops helplessly as Baze kisses the back of his neck. “I miss when you were embarrassed by this kind of talk.”

“A man likes to hear it sometimes,” Is his only defense. Chirrut is steadily moving back against him now, and for all their barbed words at one another, their bodies communicate well, giving Baze permission to thrust into him in earnest, trying to keep their rhythm steady though the sheer amount of buildup of desire to this point has them both on edge. He nips at Chirrut’s shoulder again, swirls his tongue over the spot. “Something for you to show me tomorrow.”

“You’re going to see it in my gait tomorrow,” He laughs, reaching over his shoulder to caress Baze’s face. “It’s been a while since we did it like this…”

“Shall we spar?” He teases, dotting his shoulder blades with kisses. If there was a so-called blessing outside of the physical to be found in this act, he thinks, perhaps it’s the reassurance that nothing in the galaxy can stop them from picking on each other. “Give the others something to wonder about when your _balance_  is off?”

He slams into him harder still, and Chirrut – beautiful, infuriating Chirrut – _laughs_  again, something between joyful and delirious, and reaches back again to drag him by the ear into a sloppy, terribly aimed kiss.

“Love you _so much_ ,” Baze pants against lightly bruised lips, because he can’t seem to remember any other words. Neither speaks after that, completely given over to pleasure and to each other, save for Chirrut’s final prayer of the evening: Baze’s name, repeated over and over as he spills over his hand. Baze follows him over the edge moments later, and they simply lie there in an exhausted pile for some time, Baze nestling his face against Chirrut’s neck as Chirrut pulls the other’s arms around him securely.

Chirrut is first to rouse again and turns in Baze’s arms despite the other’s faint objection to any kind of activity just yet. He nudges him onto his back so he can settle against his chest, both still basking in the afterglow.

“You’re still all flushed,” Baze comments off-handedly, sleepily brushing fingers over Chirrut’s cheek. “Looks so good on you.”

“I wouldn’t know.” He yawns around his favorite joke, giving Baze’s chest a firm pat. “But I know you feel good.”

“I do feel good,” He chuckles, leaning into their warm sleepiness rather than try to climb back to reality. “I feel incredibly good.”

“I feel blessed.”

“Please don’t make that a regular euphemism. I still need to be able to lead prayers with a straight face now and then.”

“You’re no fun at all, Malbus.”

Baze laughs again, finding just enough strength in his heavy limbs to give Chirrut a squeeze. “I’ll remember that next time a fantasy strikes you.”

Chirrut closes his eyes, settling comfortably in Baze’s arms. “You wouldn’t deny me.”

“Nothing in the galaxy, my love.”


End file.
